


The Arrow

by icannotevenhhh



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Assassination attempts, Barbarian Tweek - Freeform, Craig's stoobid, Gen, Paladin Butters, Prince Kyle, Princess Kenny - Freeform, Stick of Truth, Thief Craig, Tweek's a badass lmao, Violence, etc etc - Freeform, ranger stan - Freeform, this kinda sucks but :shrug:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 03:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20482355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icannotevenhhh/pseuds/icannotevenhhh
Summary: An assassination attempt gone awry leads Craig into making a new enemy.





	The Arrow

Craig gently shifted on his branch, ignoring his aching body's cries for rest and food. He'd been perched in the large oak tree since before sunrise, patiently anticipating the moment when the royal coronation would begin. Even then, he'd need to wait for the perfect opening—the penalty of screwing up a job of this scale was certain death. Craig closed his eyes and shook his head. There wasn't any screwing up this job, he was Feldspar the Assassin, for Goddess' sake! There was a reason he had been dubbed the 'Shadow Killer.'

Craig snapped to attention at the first sound of jingling bells, his entire body tensing like a cat ready to pounce. At the very end of the castle pathway he began to see barefoot dancers twirling ribbons, spangled with bells and flower chains. How they didn't freeze in their thin, flowing tunics baffled Craig. 

The dancers were received by a crowd beginning to fill in the path's outskirts, leaving just enough room for the procession to pass. Elves, pixies, and humans alike all flocked and bustled, straining to get a glimpse of the king-to-be, all the while carelessly flinging gossip into the air. In his boredom, Craig couldn't help but eavesdrop on a pair of half-elves in rangers' garb, each with a few rabbits slung over their shoulders. They must have stopped for the coronation after a late-autumn hunt in the surrounding forest. 

"The prince is so _handsome_, don't you think?" Said one, running a hand through their dark hair. "I wonder if he'll look to the commonfolk for a partner, like Queen Relayah from the East...Surely he'd be impressed by my archery." 

The second hunter scoffed. "Don't get your hopes up, Terran. I heard he's having an affair with someone in his court." 

"Who?" 

"I believe it was the Marshwalker, though no one can tell if the rumors are true." 

They continued to chatter on for some time. Somewhat annoyed at himself for getting distracted, Craig tuned out their conversation, turning his gaze back to the procession. The dancers had been followed by musicians and singers, all laughing and looking like they hadn't a care in the world. The crowd began to clap to the beat of the music as armed guards emerged behind the performers, signaling the arrival of the prince and his court. Craig tensed. Now was the time to look for an opening. 

The main members of the prince's court rode forth on horseback, waving pleasantly to the crowd. A half-orc ambassador from the kingdom of Frost Mountain—her royal highness Princess Kennith—was joyfully clapping along to the music, blowing flirtatious kisses to the crowd. Despite her billowing peachy-orange skirts, she refused to ride her dappled horse sidesaddle, instead straddling it in a decidedly undignified matter. Her heeled boots and the edges of her skirts were crusted with mud, contrasting greatly with the gleaming golden circlet inlaid with rubies sitting atop her head. Though she was a sight to behold, she was the bearer of a horrible curse...

Craig's gaze shifted away, trying not to distract himself with the hypnotizing peculiarity of Her Majesty.

To the Princess' left rode a human paladin dressed in seawater-blue robes, sitting astride a white stallion. Across his left eye was a long, jagged scar, leaving his iris and pupil a muted milky blue. Strapped to his back was a ginormous war hammer, glinting viciously in the autumn sun. Despite those details, however, his demeanor remained warm and unthreatening, and he smiled kindly towards the crowd. He was Leopold the Merciful, Princess Kennith's loyal protector. 

Behind the pair and directly in front of the royal family rode Stanley the Marshwalker, his chosen steed a sturdy black-and-white Clydesdale. By the Marshwalker's side was an orcish hunting dog in a spiked collar, loyally keeping within arm's reach. The young man's helmet was off, revealing shaggy black hair and an icy gaze. Though his eyes were hard, his smile was lively and carefree, proud of being a part of the elven prince's court on his coronation day. The blade strapped to his hip seemed more ornate than functional, as though he had been wanting to impress someone—either the elven prince or Wendy the Valkyrie—by wearing it. 

Craig didn't care for them, though he made a note of the placement of their weapons. No, Craig's focus was entirely on the prince himself.

Prince Kyle of the Forest Elves sat straight-backed atop a large chestnut stag, its antlers strung with flower chains. Upon the prince's wild hair sat a small circlet of interwoven branches, some of its warm autumn leaves stuck messily in his bright red curls. He had donned leather boots that went up to his mid-calf along with matching leather gloves, wooden-beaded jewelry, and plain, slim-fitting brown trousers. His lose and flowing tunic left little to the imagination, the fabric sheer enough to faintly see his tanned and freckled skin beneath. The prince was breathtaking—no wonder the crowd seemed so enraptured with him. 

Craig noted how his enchanted circlet had slid slightly off-kilter, perfect to grab as an extra bonus when the time was right.

Riding behind the prince was the rest of his court, minus his family—the King and Queen went missing soon after Prince Kyle turned ten, and, just last year, his young frost elf brother fled from his duties. Hushed whispers in alleys and over cups of ale tell of how Prince Ike had joined a band of pirates, wishing to shun his royal upbringing. Craig had just began to size them up when a loud horn blew, signaling the beginning of the ceremony. 

The performers at the front of the procession broke off into little clusters, kneeling respectfully on the frosted ground. Kyle's court halted and parted on either side of him, dismounting and handing the reigns to their steeds off to perpetually bowing servants. Craig tensed, preparing his crossbow to strike the Prince down. He slipped into the Etherial Plane, the world around him turning mute and fuzzy as he jumped from his perch onto solid ground. He stepped effortlessly through the crowd, through the dancers and court, through every expectant, watchful gaze. Craig smirked, drawing his trusty dagger.

His victory was mere seconds away.

* * *

Tweek watches as the crowd claps and cheers around him as his friend steps up to the altar, leafy circlet shimmering and glowing. The day was perfect for a coronation—crisp morning air, frosted leaves speckling the ground, the forest around them aglow with autumn foliage. And yet...something was amiss. Kyle turned to the crowd, the people instantly hushing at his calm but hardened gaze. The Marshwalker stepped forward, hound by his side.

"People of the Forest!" He boomed, voice carrying over the murmuring sea of spectators. "We are gathered here today to witness the crowning of a new High Elf king!"

A cheer arose, and yet Tweek couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

"Before we proceed with the coronation, I would like to thank his Royal Highness Tweek, Prince of the Java Barbarians, for joining us here today as a sign of the peace between our peoples!" 

More cheering as Tweek bowed his head. Though he kept his outward calm, internally he was scrying his brain for what was tripping his trigger. Did he his paint? No, he'd made sure it was dry before he arrived in the capital. Perhaps he'd forgotten to sharpen his axe last night.

As Stan continued, a smudge of dark blue appeared in the corner of Tweek's eye. Acting more on instinct than reason, Tweek turned, un-quivered an arrow, and fired.

* * *

Pain shoot through Craig's arm at the arrow now lodged in his shoulder, blood soaking his shirt as screams erupted from the spectators. Kyle and Kenny jumped behind their respective bodyguards, and Craig was faced with the reality of his situation.

His cover had been blown. 

Unable to concentrate enough to fade back into the Ether, Craig did what any good assassin would do when faced: he ran. 

Craig sprinted from the altar and plunged into the crowd, shoving civilians aside as he attempted escape. Just as he nearly made it to the safety of the forest, a voice not too far behind him called out:

"GET BACK HERE, YOU BASTARD!" 

Craig spared a look over his shoulder as his feet hit dry leaves, locking eyes with the barbaric prince who had shot him. He had piercing hazel eyes and wild blonde hair, teeth bared in a snarl. Black paint streaks—the mark of the warrior—across his skin let Craig know exactly how dangerous his pursuer was. Heart racing like a rabbit's, Craig thanked the Goddess for blessing him with the gift of long legs. He fled, picking up the pace and putting some distance between himself and the prince. 

He turned left, then right, then left again; yet nothing seemed to shake the prince from his trail. Crunching footsteps grew steadily closer, alerting Craig of the prince's swift approach. Ahead him, Craig spotted an outstretched branch of a young spruce, and he reached up to grab ahold of it. He swung himself up into the tree, flying up the branches like a spooked sparrow. At an angry shout from behind him—foreign tongue clashing with Craig's sensitive ears—he scrambled higher than he'd normally dare. The tree swayed under his weight, threatening collapse. Unable to look below him for fear of what he might see, he took a grand leap of faith, letting out a breath he didn't know he'd held when his boots hit the shingled bark of a pine. 

Craig watched through the needles as the barbarian finally came into view. The blond stopped, sniffed the air, and growled something to himself in that grating tongue of his. Craig winced, cursing his heightened half-elf senses. He watched as the barbarian prince circled the spruce he'd climbed, searching for clues to his whereabouts. 

After a good minute of grueling stillness, the barbarian finally scoffed and turned to leave, allowing Craig to finally relax. He looked down at the arrow sprouting from his shoulder, reaching up to tentatively touch the growing spot of red. His gloved fingers came back rusty, unsurprisingly. 

Craig sucked in a deep breath as he wrapped his fist around the body of the arrow, teeth gritted as he pulled it out in a single swift tug. Panting heavily, he studied the craftsmanship of the head. 

This was the work of the man who had shot him.

This was the reason his mission had failed.

Tucking the arrow away into his quiver, Craig silently vowed to return it to its maker in the very same way it was received.


End file.
